


by the time you wake, i'll be brave

by constanted



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, assorted other characters but like. Who Cares. (i do), julia is a magic user, projecting my Small Town Feelings onto characters with 1 (one) line total, sorry that this is mostly relationship focused, talkin about that One War That The Voidfish Fuckin. Erased or whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 14:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9611642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constanted/pseuds/constanted
Summary: ten moments in life; one in death.(Or: Julia (and Magnus) through the ages)





	

**Author's Note:**

> ive been running a fever for the past week, my carpal tunnel is worse than ever, and also i am in love with julia burnsides. enjoy. i love you.

**i.**  
  
They meet in school, the tiny one in the center of town that everybody goes to. They’re not popular and neither have many friends, so they have the sort of quiet respect for each other that most children without many friends do. They sit next to each other in literature class. She’s better at it than he is, she knows and he does too. He’s better at picking fights in the schoolyard, he knows and she does too.

They don’t talk very much.  
  
And then they do, because when they’re twelve, she saves his ass from some older kids, because her dad’s been having her learn magic like her mom did—she’s got Mage Hand down, okay? Cuz that spell works wonders for when her dad’s hands flare up, helps them keep on building. And these older kids have Magnus on the ground, which is rare, lately—he’s tough, tougher every day.  
  
So she takes the wand she hides in her bag and casts, because she’s worried, and slaps the older kids across the yard, picks Magnus off the ground. he looks around for the source, and runs over to her.  
  
He’s gap-toothed and wide-eyed, says, “Dude, what the _heck_ ,”  like that’s the strongest word he knows, and, seeing the teenagers behind them, grabs her hand and starts running away.  
  
He steers the two of them into the little gravel patch between the general store and the post office, about half a mile away—she’s faster than he is, but they don’t let go of each other’s hands the whole time.  
  
“I think we lost ‘em?” he says, catching his breath.  
“Yeah,” she says, “We did.”  
He nods, for a second, and gets to the topic at hand, “You can do magic?”  
“Only, like, two spells.”  
“That’s more than me!”  
She shrugs it off, says, “Why were those guys going after you?”  
“They felt like it?”  
“Sure.”  
“Nah, I’m just an easy target. Nothin’ really hurts me too much, so it’s all cool. They could be hurting other people who it would hurt, so, like, that’s a benefit.”

“I guess it is.”  
  
He smiles at her, and she smiles back. They actually did something. She’s gonna be in _so much_ trouble, but she doesn’t care.  
  
And so, just like that, begins a real, actual friendship.

  
**ii.**

He starts crashing in her house full-time when they’re both seventeen—she doesn’t know what happened to his parents, because he never brings it up. It’s not really her place, she knows. Instead, they talk about her new dog—his name’s Chuck and he’s a wiry little thing, Magnus adores him.

Her dad takes Magnus under his wing, and Magnus reveals a real, honest to god, talent for carpentry. They’re gonna be out of school soon, and he and her dad have already agreed to an apprenticeship. She’s applying to the university in Rockport, praying she gets in, but she can’t help but be jealous of Magnus for having found his _thing_ so easily. Still, she’ll have him around more, which is always a good thing.

They go to the Raven Queen’s temple every Thursday for the service, even though he’s not a worshipper. And she appreciates that, she really does.

They always hang back by the big rock formation behind the temple before they head home, and today’s no exception. Magnus keeps a stash of booze in one of the crevices, and they’re drinking straight from the bottle.

“I think,” she says, and takes a swig, “I wanna go adventuring. See the world?”  
“That would be fun,” he says, quieter than she expects.  
“I’d still visit, obviously.”  
“Can’t forget about us.”  
“Never.”

He takes a drink, “I don’t know, I--I don’t think it’s for me? Like, I am _all about_ helping people? Or whatever? But it wouldn’t be my thing, personally. You’d be good, though.”  
“Aw, c’mon you’d be good at it, too,” and she punches his arm, weakly, “We could do it together.”  
And he cracks a smile, at that, says “We totally could.”  
“We’d be fucking _great_ at it.”  
“We really would, like. you’re so smart and cool and all that, and I’m. Good at punching? _And_ I’m nice. We could probably make a good buck off of it. Power adventuring duo.”  
“Totally.”

And she really does like the sound of that, likes how fast he gets into it.

Her letter of acceptance from the university is on the workshop table when they get home. He carves her a tiny wooden bear as a congratulations gift.

 

**iii.**

Rockport’s oddly isolated from the war. She knows it’s happening, knows her father is fighting in it, knows her father won’t let her come home.

She hears nothing from Magnus, and she assumes the worst.

So instead of going back, she completes her studies and stays in Rockport, gets a temporary job for a rich family, taking care of their kid, which makes her a good amount of money while she looks for jobs she actually wants. The war ends, sooner or later, as much as any war can be over. People die, and people live, and life goes on like it never happened.

She goes out with her friends and they never ask her about what home is like, which she appreciates--there’s only an occasional note from her father that gives her any news at all.

And there are boys, and there are girls, and she loves them all, but then she doesn’t anymore, because that’s just how love works.

Then there’s a friend who asks her about home.

“It’s… small.”  
Her friend, an orc woman whose two main hobbies are lifting and oil painting, says, “So’s my hometown. Doesn’t make it less important. You don’t ever talk about yourself--”  
“I totally do. I am an open-ass-book. Read me. Read these pages. Right here.”  
“I asked you your favorite color once? And you fuckin’ said, uh,” and she pitches up her voice a tone in a half-assed impersonation, “‘That’s not important, K,’ unquote.”  
She laughs, “Fuck you.”  
“C’mon. spill.”  
“Ugh,” and then, “I guess I miss it?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Like, it’s… it’s good folks, there. Always supportive, always nice. I probably know everybody by name.”  
“That’s good.”  
“I have a dog who still lives there, My dad--my dad takes care of him now, I guess. Keeps him in the shop, The guests love him.”  
“A shop?”  
“Yeah. I grew up makin’,” and her accent’s slipping, oh shit, “Uh, metal stuff with my dad. He’s a, um, blacksmith. Best of the best, but refuses to leave town.”  
“God, I can’t--I can’t even imagine _not_ wanting to leave my town. Lotsa shitty folks. ”  
“I’d be okay staying there, y’know? Like, I’m cool here now, but. If you ever get sick of the city, or of, like, punching people for money, you could move to Raven’s Roost. Real artsy over there.”  
“Wait,” she says, “You’re from Raven’s Roost?”  
“Yeah,” she says, “Why?”  
“There’s, like, this whole people-led resistance going on, like, real quietly there. It’s fucking _wild_ , How have you not heard?”  
“My dad doesn’t tell me much in his letters.”

And she writes her father immediately.

 

**iv.**

There’s a letter in her mailbox one day soon after that, with her name in red ink in a familiar handwriting--sloppy, without any real consistency in size, little doodles all over the envelope. She smiles, mostly just thankful for a sign that he’s okay, because she had her concerns. She’d been operating on a worst-case-scenario mindset and she’s tried to avoid thinking about him.

The letter itself says:

_Jules,_

_I miss you tons, please come visit soon. ASAP. RR is cool, but less cool without you. There’s some real shit going on here now, if you haven’t heard, though. I’m sorry I haven’t written. Super real shit. I’ve been trying to, though, and, thought I’d at least explain. Not much._

(smiley face, heart, dog.)

I _have lots more to say, but I’ll save them for face-to-face. I love you!_

_M_

One paragraph, like it hasn’t been two entire years, like he didn’t disappear off the face of the planet.

But she appreciates it anyway, understands, and she writes back that same night.

 

**v.**

She arrives home two months later to a somber mood across town. Her father hasn’t mentioned anything about anything, Magnus hasn’t written much at all. People she’s known since she was a child look at her oddly, wave their hellos, and rush off. It’s nowhere near as cordial and kind as she remembers.

She finds her way home with ease. The shop has a new name--the Hammer and Tong, and the workshop is full of half-finished projects--not just her father’s metalworking, but chairs, tables, tiny wooden animals. She smiles at those, smiles at the full stack of orders, piling higher than ever before, on the front desk.

Nobody’s home, she realizes, after walking around, which is strange. She decides she’ll wait.

And then she decides, fuck that, and she heads to the tavern instead. She’s only been in once or twice before, but it’s definitely never as crowded as this.

A woman--Julia’s old literature teacher--is standing in the middle, townsfolk listening intently.

The teacher says, in a hushed, but strong tone, “He sends his people to the schoolhouse, just to make sure the kids aren’t--that we’re following the curriculums he set, out of nowhere. That we promote his rhetoric. I know it-- I know it doesn’t sound like much, but.” she tears up, sits down on a barstool.

“I understand,” says the man behind her, with more scars on his face than julia remembers, “Uh, parents--I’m not one of you, but. Parents in the room, please, uh. Help us educate your kids. Keep them as aware as they can be. We can’t have those who follow in our footsteps, um. we can’t have them growing up suppressed.”

There’s a nod, a collective _mhm_ , and he continues, “I’m--I’ll speak now, I guess.

“It’s been a year since he took over, to the date--like, since the swearing in. It’s been eleven months since he cut the--the. Everything, I guess,” the crowd laughs, “And that’s not a joke. He cut most things, That’s--fucking awful. He’s a bully, plain and simple, preying on the weak and less fortunate. But we--we’re not prey. We’re more than that.”

His words aren’t much, they’re… terrible, actually, but his spirit makes up for it--he is _oozing_ charm, completely and entirely made of focus and energy.

“There is absolutely something wrong with this town, right now. We’re hardly divided on the subject. We’re all just too afraid to rise up!”

A halfling in the corner Julia’s in whispers something to the human woman next to him, and she passes it on. Magnus, not hearing, continues--

“We’re not alone, in this. We gotta band _together--_ we can win this! We can take him down! We’ve been planning this for _so long_ , and now, it’s time--we gotta take action. Rush into it!”

There’s a cheer from the three quarters of the room that Julia’s not in, where folks are just rushing out through the back door.

The door opens, and a man with a sword--a guard, she assumes--enters. The crowd parts, and Magnus--Magnus rushes forward. The asshole.

She readies her wand in her pocket, thins about how much energy she has left in her, and, as if by instinct, knocks away the guard with a quick Mage Hand.

Magnus looks around, confused, falling a bit as he stops through inertia, and then he spots her, and, gap-toothed and wide-eyed, says nothing at all, and, seeing the guard behind them, grabs her hand and runs away.

“You came back,” he says, smiling wide, when they get home, already borderline strangling her in a hug.

“Surprise,” she gets out after some squirming.

 

 **vi.**  

She gets into the resistance quickly. Her thing is writing the words and the plans--the secret infiltrations, the quiet building of a coalition, the everything--and Magnus reads them, shares them, rallies the people. He makes her a bow, and she makes him some armor, and they hardly spend time apart. Which wasn’t abnormal, before everything, but it’s nice that they still click like that despite the time, despite the distance. She doesn’t think a single person in the world understands her like he does; they can finish each other’s sentences, they can understand each other without speaking at all.

Her father worries about her fighting, and she laughs at that.

She’s damn good at it.

She helps her father with the building of things, helps her town with the building of plans. her Rockport friends write her--the kid she took care of writes her, sends her way-too-good-for-a-three-year-old crayon drawings about what’s going on in his life. Her orc friend encourages her efforts. Her old professor offers her a job, and she declines it.

She’s in deep. She loves it.

Callen visits the shop on occasion, claiming to have taken interest in local goods, but she knows. She can put on an act. Small-town girl. All that.

They hide their plans in the loft, use some basic spells to keep it secrer. Callen knows they’re up to something, but can’t find evidence to incriminate, yet. The questionings become more frequent, and they become quieter about their plans. They both get nights in prison, both become more wary, more dependent on each other's quiet, on each other.

They find their ways around it. They always do.

 

**vii.**

It’s early morning when they finish a speech for the next day’s meeting at the Craftsmen’s Corridor, and neither of them have left the room. He’s petting the dog, an old thing, now, but still a good boy. She’s drinking some chamomile that he made, even though she doesn’t care for the taste too much. He’s making a few jokes, and she’s laughing. She loves these moments, breathes these moments.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he says, out of nowhere, and then, “Shit.”  
“Nerd,” she responds, as if it’s an instinct, and then, “Shit.”

A beat. She takes his hand and says nothing, but she smiles.

She’s never been great with emotions. He covers that for her.

“Like, you’re just--” he says, “And this is, like, super fuckin’ dorky, so I’m sorry, but it’s good to be _open_ , and ever since we were kids, and I’m just figuring this out now, this is all improv shit, okay, like, you’ve been this--this constant, in my life, even when you weren’t there? And you’re so smart and so? Shit, I can’t think of another adjective, cool. and nice. and, uh, beautiful? Like, as a being. And all that.”

She just hugs him, which throws him off guard, because he’s usually the initiator there.

“Is this how you ask everybody out?” she teases.  
“No!” he’s defensive.  
“You absolute fucking _nerd._ ”  
“Says you,” he’s picking up on it, “Sorry.”  
“Don’t apologize.”  
“So do you--?”  
“Yeah. Totally.”

 

**viii.**

Time flies.

“When it’s all over,” she says, across the room, “We should get married.”

He’s got an axe swung over his back, and he nearly drops it as he runs over to say yes.

“I’ve been, uh, practicing my whittling, in your _honor_ ,” she says, and pulls out a tiny box, “I kinda, uh, had to magic it, but. I tried?” She opens it, and the ring she finished the day prior, rosewood, and probably a little bit too small, falls into his hand.

He leans over and holds her arms, almost tripping over his axe (her father chastises the lack of safety from afar, but smiles), beams, and says, with some level of seriousness “I was building a _gazebo_ to ask _you_ in.”  
“Geez, dude.”  
He’s crying and laughing, but tries to sound pissed off, “I had a whole _plan_ .”  
“A gazebo? Like, full-sized?”  
“Yeah, uh, in that little gravel patch between the general store and the post office? There’s a reason I’ve been doing the shopping, lately.”  
“Ugh. You sap.”  
“We could’ve _coordinated_ , Jules!”  
“Let’s do the ceremony there--”  
“When this is over.”

They have a date that night, because there’s a traveling show in town, one with rave reviews, some elf cook, and they need a night off.

The chef calls them lovebirds when he offers them free samples, and proceeds to make a snide comment about them. She laughs. They have writing to do tonight, have a lot of work ahead, but she’s reminded of the good things.

Maybe, she thinks, they can win.

 

**ix.**

When they do win, and when they do get married, she cries more than she’s ever cried in her life, probably. She cries more than she did when they won,

(bow in her hand and Magnus next to her, they give Callen a choice, and he chooses to leave and never come back, rather than die right then and there. it feels too easy, for all the work they put in beforehand. she wishes she could kill him.)

The whole town turns up. Her Rockport friends come, though only for the reception. The cake is shitty, and the music is pure garbage, and it’s the best day of her life. Which is alarmingly corny of her to think, she knows. She enjoys it regardless.

There’s a hole in the roof of the gazebo--he apologizes for that. She laughs at him, says it’s charming. The town coos over them as they walk home--she feels important. Feels at peace.

“We should start that adventure soon,” she jokes, “We’re fuckin badasses now. Adventuring power couple.”  
“Hell yes.”  
“They’re gonna tell stories about us.”  
“They already are,” he says, almost embarrassed, “Some bard asked me about merch rights at the reception.”  
“Shit!”

 

**x.**

He leaves three months after the wedding on a trip to Neverwinter, through Rockport. She appreciates the alone time, appreciates the first actual moment to breathe by herself she’s had in two years, since she started fighting. It’s good to have days like this, quiet and lazy and alone, the dog, old and nearly blind, limping behind her.

It’s good. It's calm. 

Her father is humming a song, soft, but it carries across the room, and she exhales, deeply, knows that she’s lucky, and feels at peace.

Then, there’s a noise, and when the fire and the weight of the pillars begin to consume her, she closes her eyes, and she thinks about the schoolyard.

And she thinks, this isn't how my story is supposed to end.

And she thinks.

 

( **i.**

She hates this goddamn cubicle situation, but the Astral Plane could be worse, she guesses. She’s got friends, her father, and things to do. She’s just sick of interviewing people who are in shock, it upsets her.

A reaper she’s seen around stumbles into her little office, waves, and says, “I--I met somebody today who had, um. Something to say,” he coughs, clears his throat, “To you.”

She raises her eyebrows, says nothing.

“He says to tell you that he loves you.”

The reaper tosses a file across her desk, all the information save a name and the word “WAIVED” crossed out. She smiles.)

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on tumblr @leontheartificer or @yahooanswer. whats up.  
> i'm workin on a more comedic and experimental (ugh) fic for this show (ugh) but that'll take time and i wanted to stake my claim here as being. Sad.
> 
> griffin made magnus an alien literally days after i posted this, iirc, so, uh, fuck?
> 
> title from "i will" by mitski.


End file.
